The Raven Has Many Calls And Faces
by Princess Persephone
Summary: What if the tent scene in X2 had gone differently? What if Mystique hadn’t left when ordered to? And what exactly was going through Logan’s mind? AU WolverineLoganMystiqueRaven
1. Chapter 1

The Raven Has Many Calls . . . And Faces

Summary: What if the tent scene in X2 had gone differently? What if Mystique hadn't left when Logan told her to? And what exactly was going through Logan's mind? AU--well, alternate ending to the scene.Wolverine(Logan)/Mystique(Raven)

Chapter One

Logan lay in his tent, his mind going over all that had happened. They had allied with Magneto, something he'd never dreamed possible a few months ago, during that Liberty's Island fiasco. Professor Xavier had been captured by William Stryker—Stryker, who had seemed to know an awful lot about his, Logan's, past. How were they going to rescue the Professor from an underground base crawling with Stryker's people? They didn't even know where the Professor was being held . . .

And had Magneto been telling the truth when he'd said it was Stryker's fault that he was the way that he was? That he, Logan, was an experiment of a military scientist who was trying to stop the "mutant problem"?

Briefly, he thought about Bobby and how his family had reacted to his being a mutant and going to a mutant school. _They_ obviously thought about it being a "mutant problem;" hell, they'd even said as much, asked him if he could try to not _be_ a mutant . . . It was sad, but Logan felt that the kid needed to face rejection sooner of later. Life was full of it, especially for mutants.

But even more than all of those things, one particular event was in the forefront of his thoughts:

His conversation with the beautiful doctor Jean Grey.

He had been such an idiot. They had been having a normal conversation and out of the blue he had touched her face in a lover-like manner and come at her with questions and made her choose between him and Scott.

And she had chosen Scott.

Folding his arms under his head and staring up at the ceiling of his tent, Logan didn't see why. Scott was a possessive jerk, who was smart, granted, and the Professor seemed to like him, but Logan thought "Cyclops" was a bit of an idiot. The first time they'd met he had barely looked appreciatively at Jean before Scott had jumped down his throat and made it blatantly obvious, to everyone in the entire school, that Jean was his—_and_ that they were sleeping together.

Which was another thing Logan thought was a mistake on Jean's part. He himself was much better looking that Scott—he had the broad shoulders, the lean, toned muscles, thick hair, and a chiseled face that, he was told, made him look like the Greek god Apollo. Well, he didn't know what Apollo looked like, but he did know that he had a lot on Scott. He was funnier, Jean flirted constantly with him, and there was always that animal magnetism between them. It was much more tangible than anything Jean had with Scott.

Logan briefly wondered how good the Cyclops was in bed compared to him…He imagined it was a set back having a boyfriend who had to wear sunglasses all the time. What if they fell of when there were…_doing _it…?

A bit disgusted with himself at thinking of Scott and Jean having sex, Logan went back to his original train of thought.

She had chosen her "one-eyed" boyfriend.

Logan had been a bit taken aback when she'd said she loved Scott—had only half believed her—but he'd had to accept the truth; she had made him accept it. He didn't know what had made him do it; what had made him kiss her. All he knew was that there she was, talking about how much she loved Scott, how girls like her didn't end up with guys like him, and all he'd been able to think about were her lips. They were red and slightly chapped and beckoned to him. Her eyes had been fiery, but also full of sorrow and (dare he say it) attraction. Deep auburn hair had framed her face and her suit accentuated her figure almost like a second skin.

He'd wanted her.

So without thinking about what she was saying or what she wanted, without thinking about who might come upon them, and certainly without thinking about what _Scott_ would do if he ever found out, Logan had done what he'd wanted to do since he'd practically first met her: kiss her senseless.

He'd captured her mouth and muted her words, which had quickly turned into soft sounds of pleasure as he kissed her. Her lips had been soft and yielding, different than he'd expected. Pulling her close up against him, her body had melded to his and her hands had come up to his face. She'd felt good in his arms and he'd just started deepening the kiss when she'd broken away, her hands holding him back, a slightly reluctant look in her eyes.

"Please," she'd whispered softly, and he'd just leaned forward to continue where they'd stopped when she had pulled back from him, ruining the mood.

"Please," she'd said again, this time fore forcefully. "Don't make me do this."

"Do what?"

"This." It had come out sad and regretful, but Jean had walked away, not looking back, leaving him standing there feeling like a fool.

It had been a strange exchange and was just as confusing now as it had been then. Logan still didn't know where he'd gone wrong. Perhaps it has been a mistake to kiss her while she was talking? Or perhaps she had been telling the truth and really did love Scott. Either way, Jean had rejected him. And he wasn't used to it, at least not by women.

He'd been rejected by strangers, by townsfolk who were afraid of mutants, or others who feared differences and the unknown. But women were different. If he concealed his "talent" well enough—and sometimes when he didn't conceal it at all—they flocked to him like birds, all ready to spill their hearts and spread their legs to a bad-boy badass in leather.

But Jean didn't seem to care about all that. What was it she'd said?

"Girls flirt with the dangerous guys, but we don't take them home. We marry the good guys."

Christ, he'd never been rejected before _because_ he was a bad-boy. Maybe Jean had been speaking the truth after all. Maybe she really did love Scott and had just been attracted to, and lusted after, his bad-boy image.

Although it pained him to admit it, Logan thought it was true: Girls didn't take home guys like him; they might fool around or flirt, but they always ended up marrying good guys.

Groping for his dog tag in the dark, he grabbed it and squinted, reading 450 25 243 WOLVERINE. He wondered briefly if having a murky past enhanced his bad-boy image or not, and if the air of mystery was what had first attracted Jean. He wondered if his strange, metal-enhanced skeleton and wolfish tendencies were a barrier between the two of them. He wondered if he'd ever find a woman who did more than flirt with dangerous guys and would take him home, like a lost dog . . . or wounded wolf . . .

So Jean and Scott loved each other enough to get married did they? Logan pursed his lips, thinking. He supposed he was okay with that. As much as he didn't like Scott, he wanted Jean to be happy. _He_ didn't love her. He liked her, sure. He _wanted_ her, yeah, badly even, all those dreams could attest to his desire. But love? No. He didn't love her. And Jean deserved someone who did.

His train of thought was broken when he sensed someone outside his tent. He could hear them approaching, the grass bending under their feet, their quick, heavy breathing; and he could smell them, the clean, feminine scent of arousal, a thrilling excited musk, and . . . a hint of fear . . . ?

Logan tensed and narrowed his eyes when he saw the shadow on the tent flap. The sound of the zipper sent chills down his spine and his whole body tensed when the flap was moved and a body stepped into his tent. Logan's eyes focused on the intruder and his breath caught in his throat as he sat up quickly.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own X2 or X-Men or anything like that. blushes I forgot this part in chapter one...

Chapter Two

Jean entered his tent slowly, and kneeled next to Logan's knees as he sat up. Her black pants hugged her hips just as much as her black tank top hugged her breasts. Two inches of pale, creamy midriff skin were exposed in the gap between her pants and her shirt. Jean's eyes glittered especially bright in the low light, and her auburn hair framed her face perfectly, showing off her high cheekbones.

Logan straightened as he sat up, bewildered as to why Jean was in his tent in the middle of the night wearing something that begged to be taken off. If she was here to talk why hadn't she just stuck her head in and asked him to come outside? He thought she'd made it perfectly clear that she'd chosen Scott and not him before, but perhaps she was worried he was hurt by the abrupt way she had walked away after their kiss—not that he was, really. He was already rejuvenating and didn't mind that she'd turned him down; the only part that bothered him at all was being turned down for Scott . . . He just didn't see it.

"Look," Logan started, but he was cut off by Jean's hand. She touched his lips with her finger tips lightly and leaned forward, her tank top gaping open and drawing his attention to her breasts.

Logan swallowed hard as he identified the lustful look in her sparkling eyes. He could smell her arousal and strangely still detected the fearful excitement that raced through her blood and spilled out of her pores like perfume, as well as a scent he was sure he'd smelled before but couldn't quite place.

He was about to speak again, highly confused by her new behavior, but she seemed to sense it and leaned forward even further to cut him off again. Her lips met his and this time it was exactly what Logan had craved.

Her kiss was not giving at all but hungry and rough and he kissed her back just as forcefully, forgetting why he had been wary and all questions of why she had come to his tent in the middle of the night draining from his mind. A second later she pushed him down on his back and her body was splayed over his, her pelvis grinding against his hips and making him groan.

She smiled and he deepened the kiss, wanting more of what she was offering. One of her hands was on his chest, keeping him down and feeling his racing heart while the other buried itself in his hair, adjusting his head to her liking as they continued to kiss. His tongue entered her mouth forcefully and for a split second he was afraid he had let the wolverine part of him, his wolfish instincts, get the better of him, and he was about to withdraw, but stopped when he heard the gratified moan deep in the back of her throat. Her own tongue plunged into his mouth just as forcefully as his had done seconds before and Logan was briefly at a loss to know what to do. Feelings and sensations were attacking him left and right. He could smell her heavy arousal; it covered him like a dense white fog and clouded his mind as well. He could practically hear her thumping heart in her chest and her breathy moans almost undid his strictly-kept restraint.

As they continued to kiss his hands wandered to her waist and started to slowly inch up her black tank top, exposing more soft skin for him to touch. Every inch of it was smooth and hot and he wanted to touch all of her.

At that second his fingers came into contact with something he had not been expecting: as scar of three lines all perfectly the same length.

A scar he had once given someone, but certainly not Dr. Jean Grey.

His hands stopped moving and his entire body stiffened at the thought. No, it couldn't be…

But it was.

She smiled at him, transforming before his eyes. Her auburn hair turned redder and shorter, her lust-filled eyes flashed from murky brown to sparkling gold, and her pale, peach skin grew darker and at last stopped at a deep shade of blue.

Mystique leaned down and whispered into his ear, "No one's ever left a scar quite like you." She licked his neck and he recoiled slightly, but she could tell it wasn't from disgust.

Oh, no. Not from disgust at all.

He was trembling beneath her, his breath coming in short gasps, and she could still feel him against her, sparking a wet heat between her legs.

"Do you want an apology?" Logan asked through gritted teeth, trying vainly to control his body from her touch. It wasn't working.

He couldn't believe he hadn't seen through her disguise at once; one would think . . . But Logan didn't know what was worse, his not seeing through her disguise at once, or the way his body was still responding to hers, even though she didn't look like Jean any longer.

How dare she impersonate Dr. Grey like that, creeping up to his tent and seducing him . . . what had she hoped to gain? From Logan's perspective, nothing. At least, that's what her body was telling him as her hips ground against him almost involuntarily. But he was wary. In his experience many people had hidden agendas.

"You know what I want," Mystique whispered, her yellow eyes boring into his. Her eyes flickered to his lips and she said, "The question is, what do _you _want?"

Carefully watching his face, she felt herself melt into the form of Ororo Munroe. Her white hair felt cool against her bare back, and she watched Logan's eyes for any sign of reaction. She didn't think he was close to Storm, but she could never be too sure…

Not sensing an overwhelming reaction, Mystique smiled and changed faces (and identities) once again into that of Yoriko Oyama. Stryker's little secretary helper had dark hair and almond, Asian-like eyes, and Mystique wondered if Logan would find them attractive. She knew he'd not yet seen this woman, and wasn't the least bit surprised when there wasn't a reaction from him.

Secretly pleased that while she had been herself she had made him hot, and while she was in the forms of these other women he didn't react, Mystique decided to change again. She still wanted to know what he wanted; what sort of woman would send him off the edge so that she could take him…

She had barely finished changing to the pale skinned, big brown eyed, and white-streak haired Rogue before Logan nearly threw her off of him. Crouching at his feet, she turned back to herself without a second thought, staring intently into Logan's eyes.

Logan breathed hard and sat up, still painfully aware of his arousal. He didn't know what Mystique's problem was. Having four different people's faces over his in the course of as many minutes was disconcerting, to say the least. He glared at the woman in his tent, unsure of whether he wanted to throw her out or start right back where they'd left off. Sexual frustration was never pleasant.

Mystique touched his leg apologetically. "I'm . . . sorry if I . . ." She pursed her lips, the taste of apology bitter in her mouth. She raised an eyebrow. "You shouldn't be uncomfortable . . ."

Letting out a snort, Logan closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head in disbelief. That was rich coming from her. Sorry, yeah right. If she was sorry, then he was the Queen of England. She could be "sorry" about something like this but not sorry about the events at Liberty Island? Not sorry that she helped in the plot that almost destroyed humanity? . . .

Mystique licked her lips. "So what do you want?" she asked.

"I want you to leave. Get out." Logan's voice was husky and strange to his ears, and didn't sound very confident.

Apparently that's the impression Mystique got as well.

Moving so that she lay next to him, Mystique put a hand on his chest, pleased that his heart was still thumping so hard.

"Are you sure that's what you want?" she asked, her hand slowly sliding down his chest, nearing the bulge in his pants.

Logan's breathing hitched and he caught her hand in his, glaring into her eyes. He tossed her hand away. "Quite sure."

Mystique blinked, but didn't move to rise. She smiled mischievously and said, "If you want me to leave, you'll have to make me."

It was a childish and immature device to use against him, but she couldn't help it. The idea of him grabbing her and throwing her bodily from his tent sent delicious chills down her spine.

To her pleasure, he started to do that very thing. Sitting up and grabbing her about the waist, Logan heaved her towards the tent flap, never actually moving his legs. In preparation for this maneuver, Mystique wrapped her arms about his neck and pulled herself more fully into his arms. The abrupt shift in weight sent Logan reeling down onto his back with her on top of him.

Logan breathed heavily for a moment and Mystique smiled down at him, a triumphant glint in her eyes. Leaning down to him she whispered into his ear, "Tell me what you want."

Gritting his teeth, Logan glared up at her. "Is this what _you_ want?" he asked. "To seduce me?"

"I'm not seducing you," she replied, her lips tickling his ear. "You're as willing as I am."

Not being able to deny this statement, Logan did what he figured he'd end up doing anyway: he turned his head and captured her mouth with his. There was only so long a man could go in this kind of situation. And besides, he was on the rebound and Mystique seemed to know it; why else would she come to his tent pretending to be Jean Grey?

Mystique responded enthusiastically to his kiss, her tongue slipping into his mouth and her hands burying themselves in his hair. A moment later, Logan whipped them over and was on top, in the position of power. Grabbing her hips with his powerful hands, he pulled her to him forcefully, and Mystique let out a low hiss of pleasure. Kissing her thoroughly once more, Logan broke the kiss and paused, searching her eyes.

She looked up at him, breathing heavily, her eyes deep pools of mystery . . .

"What . . . What's your name?" he asked. "I mean, your real name."

Mystique stared at him for a moment, wondering why this was relevant.

"Raven Darkholme," she answered.

"Raven," he repeated. His eyes ran over her dark face, taking in her slicked back red hair and bright yellow eyes.

"Why do you keep you hair like that?" he asked abruptly.

"Why do youkeep _your _hair like _that_?" she countered back, frustration beginning to pull on her nerves. She shifted her body and her breasts pressed against his chest, but Logan didn't react to them.

He did, however, chuckle at her worded answer. One of his hands came up and gently brushed her face. Mystique's features softened visibly, and for a moment she looked vulnerable and innocent, her yellow eyes huge and full of emotion.

"Your name suits you," he whispered, lowering his head and gently brushing her mouth with his.

The kiss was pleasant and soft, a type Mystique had never experienced before in her life. It sent sparks down to her toes and light-hearted warmth spread throughout her body, leaving her breathless when the kiss ended.

She gazed up into his dark eyes and briefly thought of what a bitch she was for coming here in the middle of the night disguised as Jean and trying to seduce him. She'd had the power to cover up those scars he'd discovered, but part of her had secretly hoped he'd notice them and she'd be forced to show her true form.

And he had.

And she had.

And here she was, getting kissed by him in a way she'd never known existed.

Logan licked his lips and buried his face in her neck, breathing in her intoxicating scent. He didn't know why he hadn't known it was her from the start. Her scent followed her everywhere. For weeks after Liberty's Island he'd swore he'd smelled her, but it had always turned out to be something else.

He supposed he was a betraying bastard. A few hours ago he'd offered all of himself to Jean and she'd rejected him. No doubt she probably wouldn't have minded if he'd never recovered and died from a broken heart or some other lame chicken shit. _He_ didn't care for that kind of future however, and didn't even feel guilty at being in his tent in the middle of the night with Mystique. He supposed he should feel guilty or ashamed, no doubt _Scott_ would if it had been him—but he didn't; he just didn't.

All thoughts of Jean had left his mind probably from the moment Mystique—Raven—had started kissing him again. Raven. He was right: the name did suit her. She was a bit dark and could imitate any sound (or person) she wanted to, just like a raven. Most people thought of her as being on the wrong side—but weren't they all united to save the Professor now? So she believed that mutants should have rights just like any other person, but so did he. They just went around by different ways to achieve this end. He was with the Professor and believed in patience and going by the law, while she would use whatever means necessary to achieve what she wanted.

He rather admired her for it.

Kissing her neck, Logan let his hands begin to wander, and by the way Mystique moved and the soft moans coming from deep in her throat, he figured this was a welcomed act.

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The end.

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